Whispers
by Hikari-san42
Summary: Knuckles knows the story of the Land of Darkness. He knows of Chaos, the Master Emerald, the Guardian, and the ancient duty. Yet, he does not tell anyone that these stories are true, or that he is the living embodiment of some of these legends. Instead, he whispers the tales too, transforming them into more truthful accounts of events, but never confirming them... /OVA universe/


_Whispers_

_A Sonic the Hedgehog fanfiction – _about Knuckles

**Notes:** This was the result of a niggle that wouldn't leave me. Knuckles in the OVA is totally different from Knuckles in the games. He is more carefree, friends with Sonic, and… he just gives of a different vibe. His back story in the OVA always intrigued me, and I finally sat down and typed it out. This is meant to be read more as an introspective, I suppose. Opinions reign.

Standard disclaimers apply.

* * *

Knuckles knew all about the Land of Darkness.

He knew the story of how it was abandoned, left as a sacrifice for the god Chaos, and how the land split in two. He knew the tale of Angel Island, the mythical island that floated higher than the others and kept the Master Emerald – which housed Chaos for all of eternity – away from the inhabitants of Planet Freedom. He knew of the legendary guardian, a fierce creature who never strayed far from its post, from the Emerald's side, from its duty. He knew these things, and yet, he never spoke of them, not even with his friends.

He never told them how _he_ was the Master Emerald's guardian, or how his people were the keepers of the story of the Land of Darkness, or how he was the sole survivor of a long line of guardians and powerful chiefs. Instead, he told them about the treasure that he found, or the people that he saw on Cocoa Island, or how the ice caps were fairing.

Knuckles had not been sworn to secrecy. In fact, he encouraged the rumors of Angel Island, inspiring them to instill fear into his fellow mobians. They did not need to know the truth, the loneliness that crept upon someone as they sat next to that pulsating Emerald, watching as the rest of the planet floated past underneath, the way the silence would deafen anyone who stayed still for too long, or the way that the sun felt harsh and judgmental, even in the cool of the sky. The rest of the populace lived on floating islands as well, but theirs did not drift; they did not hum with power every time you took a step; they did not change on a whim, transforming from dense jungle to a desert overnight. Their islands were just that – islands, not mystical vessels filled to the brim with Chaos Energy.

So, Knuckles did not blame himself for wanting to leave. He had had enough of the temples declaring the story of Chaos and how it attacked the human city of Station Square, turning it into the Ancient Relics, as the mobians now knew it, had had enough of the scrolls demanding that he follow in his forefathers' footsteps and give up his life to make sure that Chaos was never released again. If Angel Island were to ever touch back down on the surface, in a place aptly named Mystic Ruins, Chaos would be set free to ravage everything in sight.

Knuckles didn't remember a time before the Floating Island. His first memory was of waking up from a deep sleep next to the Master Emerald. It had welcomed him to the world, humming at him that it had been expecting him, and the Island was his and his alone. No one else would share it with him, and he was to protect it. The gem had imbued him with images of Chaos and of one of his ancestors, a female echidna, calming the beast and sealing both herself and Chaos in the giant Emerald. It had told him of his duty and then sent him on his way.

He had explored the Island, and eventually stumbled across the Hidden Palace after what could have been a month or five years; time was irrelevant here. Inside, he found scroll after scroll of detailed logs. Different styles of handwriting decorated the scrolls, but they all said the same things, over and over again. A date, and then the words _no incident_ followed by a signature.

_No incident. _

_No incident. _

_No incident. _

_No incident. _

_No incident._

Knuckles could only stare at the chicken scratch of the Guardian before him. Toward the end of the scroll – and the man's life – he could tell that he had gone insane. The letters were drawn out and loopy, no longer clear and precise, and a small message had been scrawled, almost unreadable.

_Always no incident. Whoever is next, get away. It will drive you mad. The silence, the power, the expectation… Leave. Set the Island to drift above everything, somewhere between the Land of the Sky and the stars, and get off. Return if you feel you must, but do not stay. You will lose your mind like I have. Live your life, my son. Please. _

_-Locke_

At the time, he had shaken off the message, but it had burrowed deep into his mind without his say so, and it started to whisper at him late at night, when was laying beside the Master, staring at the too close stars. They were always different, and he liked it that way, though he wished he knew what the patterns meant. He had yet to stumble across a star chart, so he only guessed. He created stories out of the stars, and the tales eventually evolved to include a main character – perilously named Locke – as he fought against a giant water god. He always lost though, because his mind betrayed him, and his only legacy was a scratched paragraph, a message to a future generation.

To him.

He left soon after, following Locke's instructions. However, the floating lands of the Land of the Sky reminded him too much of his rightful place, so he eventually made it down to the surface. The Ancient Relics were full of treasures, which he easily collected and sold to the highest bidder. He bought himself a hat, and a pair of sunglasses, and a bag, and those were his only worldly possessions – besides his shoes and gloves. He ignored the yearning that tugged at him constantly, pulling him up and away from the cursed land of Chaos. The stories had always warned that the Dark Lands were poisoned, and they would eventually kill anyone who stayed there too long. He convinced himself that he was only having a little fun, and he would eventually make his way back up to Angel Island.

Then, he met Sonic.

The hedgehog had an aura around him that pulled Knuckles in. His little fox friend – who declared himself Sonic's brother five seconds into Knuckles' acquaintance – only deepened the whole experience, and Knuckles found himself forgetting about Angel Island and his ancient duty and even treasure hunting. The three of them simply enjoyed each other's company, lazing on the beach, chasing after Dr. Robotnik – who, Knuckles found out, was the sole inhabitant of the Land of Darkness – and living. For the first time in his life, Knuckles actually found himself looking forward to tomorrow, not dreading the silence or worrying if he would find a good treasure score.

Somehow, Knuckles found himself changing, and not in a way he expected. He was still constantly being pulled toward the sky, toward Angel Island and the Master Emerald, but he also found himself being tugged toward his friends, toward the simple future they promised him. He was at a crossroads, one that would change the future of everything.

He chose to forge his own way. He did not cut ties with Sonic and Tails completely, though he did bid them a farewell. He could not delude himself with their effortless way of life; he was more than just a beach, a biplane, and a cocky smile. He was a hat and pair of sunglasses, a scrawled message on the bottom of a scroll, and an ancient duty. He was a part of a nearly extinct species, the keeper of a legend, and the living proof that tradition worked, even if it took a while for the message to set in.

But, more than that, he was a breaker of tradition. He was not a blind follower; he was a trailblazer. He would continue to guard Angel Island, but he could not complete that job stuck up there with the silence and the stories and the temples. He was better suited for keeping the mobians and the human-hybrids from finding out the truth. He did for them what Locke's message did for him.

He whispered in their ears.

And, he lived.

For himself, and for every other Guardian before him, who never got the chance.

* * *

_Reviews, as always, are cherished. _


End file.
